


Lemonade Clouds Blur Lines. 7-btvs-ats-ucsl

by iskierka



Category: Angel The Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:19:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iskierka/pseuds/iskierka





	Lemonade Clouds Blur Lines. 7-btvs-ats-ucsl

Lemonade Clouds Blur Lines  
by Briar  
~~~~~~~~~~

 

Notes: I hope this makes sense. I think this'll makes  
sense. Hey, I'm kinda new at this-- what can I say?  
forgive shifts, sequence-shuffles here I thought I  
liked...  
Spoilers: BtVS Season*5*, "I Was Made to Love You"  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
spoiler space, consider yourself duly warned, aussies,  
and brits, and everyone else- oh, my!  
*  
*  
*  
*

Summary:_hmmm. clouds and lemonade, April's plight.  
Disclaimer: Ha. Ha-ha. None o' dis ain't mine. At all.  
Feedback: Like it? Hate this? Tell me.  
o0briar0o@yahoo.com

Lemonade Clouds Blur Lines  
by Briar  
~~~~~~~~~~

 

Access denied.  
Access denied.  
Access denied.  
~~~~~~~~~~~

"When I fall in love, it will be completely."

"I would die for you...Beg and steal for you...Yeah,  
I'd fall for you."

"If you fall, I will catch you I'll be waiting"

"And I will always love you..."

"Love, love me do. You know I love you. So please,  
plea-ea-eease-"

"I wonder wonder wonder wonder who-"

(on the drive over, she used the CD's he'd burned her)  
~~~~~~~~~~~

He had been the doll Poppa. And now she couldn't  
possibly understand.

All the growly noises fetish file  
1006mblu7>lpZ3q.htf

Grr-upp.  
Mmmmschurplsjoeiouocxxxliwkie##%*#%!!%$#sfeb

Larrschbruachshitklmelamphi^^^!!lsie.

 

Hawkins, 300.

 

Asimov and Fowles, 124 MB.

She'd quote Emerson and Thoreau on demand.

Say "Mmm, lick my boot, you nasty boy" in Swedish and  
Polish, German, Norwegian and Dutch.  
Requisite whip lashing out on cue.

With smile. Service always dished out with the smile.  
And she'd meant it.

It was almost their one-year, too.  
~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue lights. Blue lights flashing. Uh-oh. Silver-blue  
lights. Flare of electricity near what could be  
visually described from an outside source as the  
region of the temples.

Surge?

Charge. Overextending-  
~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Form unto the void that Warren's selfish, lonesome  
vacuum had been, a social anti-magnet borne of  
self-disgust, low self-esteem, gross perversion, and  
plain unlikability.

Mixed, of course, with the inflated sense of  
self-importance, the desire to play at God when  
wagging his own dog wasn't cutting it, too much time  
on his own two hands doncha know, and much, much  
better, don't you think, than making bombs?

Then came her. April, breath of love and life and,  
suddenly, sex- yes, perfect girlfriend. Who kow-towed  
and obeyed and smiled happily to exist for him.

No matter that it was circuitry and-- really, truly,  
pun not intended-- silicon, all wires and synapses,  
electrical impulses... because really isn't that the  
human brain anyhow?  
~~~~~~~~~~~

Knock-knock. "Who's there?"  
"It's April; I'm looking for Warren?"

Knock-knock. "Who's there?"  
(bright *smile*) "Is Warren here?"

 

Repeat pattern 147 times.  
~~~~~~~~~~~

Ideal. He'd poured out his own bits and pieces in that  
ever-elusive search for self-optimization. The tip of  
the self-actualization pyramid.

Pillars of character and integrity, even, added to the  
broth like so much hope and needy desire, like so many  
bulbs of tiny pearl-onions, carrots and chunks of beef  
(or rawhide leather?? flavored condoms? -not that  
they'd needed it...)  
~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Two little girls sitting idly on the swings. Excepting  
that one of them, in a pretty, fuschia floral dress,  
is hanging limply as though...her batteries had just  
ran out. Its. It.

Two little girls sitting idly on the swings.  
Excepting, of course, that these are no two ordinary  
little girls. And one of them was dead. Well, in the  
sense that anything cognitive had ceased to become an  
issue. Dead in the sense that sentience had now  
departed from the slight, girlish frame (excepting, of  
course, the bosom) --possibly forever-- and that the  
femme/robot-sex moppett known as April had thus left  
the earthly plane of existence for good.

The other, well, the other was taking a break from  
worrying about her mother and her newly blood-bonded  
sister, taking a break from any close and foreseeable  
apocalypses to revel in the all-too-human self-pity  
that comes from being ditched twice by "a couple of  
good ones" in sweet succession.

But that's a whole other ballgame. Or is it? Two  
little girls, sittin' out on a ballgame, still waiting  
to know who wrote the Book of Love. 

Excepting that one was dead.  
~~~~~~~~~~~

He was stuffing the sports bag with a blue sweater,  
and a couple of rolled up socks. Wondering, stiffling  
the tingly edges of panic. Musing.

How the flow of battery juices should have ceased by  
now. She just kept going, and going, and going.

Irritated, because Katrina had begun to rave about  
said "sudden change in plans." Truth be told, he'd get  
it threefold from his mother in a few. Great. Just  
great.

It just didn't make sense. When and how and where and  
why had she found him out? 

Well, he knew Why. But When and Where and How?

Orange sweater, two undershirts. Five pairs of briefs.  
Bit back the annoyance. And concern, plus anxiety.

"Honey, look, Kat- like I said it's only gonna be..."  
~~~~~~~~~~~

Warren, honey, she's asleep. I think I broke her. But  
it couldn't matter, because I'm your girlfriend and  
she lied.  
~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Unbelievable, really, that this machine-- this  
robot-girl, mere plaything with synthetic hair and  
athletic *looking*thighs, eye-candy boobies- would  
hang on for dear, continued artificial-intelligence  
existence.

Rage, in her own doll-machine way, against the dying  
of the light. For the darkest hour comes, indeed,  
before the dawn. And maybe she'll find her chips-mate  
other-half in that big junkyard-haven in the sky. For  
the Pentium heart that did beat. Or maybe absence of  
the being is reprieve enough.

 

fin~


End file.
